A
Believer Is Born
By Sandy Fleming
My young daughter looked
at me expectantly, not knowing how I would
respond. Her older friends had been discussing Santa and told
her
that he didn't exist. She was worried, and with shaking belief,
had
come to me for The Truth. I had known this moment would come.
I just
wasn't expecting it so soon!
Memories sailed from somewhere
deep within my subconscious. How had my
mother handled this crisis with me? I remembered being about
six years
old and asking the same question of her in much the same way
so long
ago. And almost as quickly, I realized that I couldn't even remember
her answer. It was crowded out by a far more vivid memory from
later
that evening. Few memories glow more brightly for me than the
time I
saw Santa Claus himself.
At six years old, I was
as knowledgeable as could be, at least in my
own eyes. I knew for sure that the Santa in the local department
store
wasn't the real McCoy. After all, there were too many of them
scattered around neighboring towns for it to be plausible. Each
of
those guys, I reasoned, must be Santa's helpers, charged with
the
daunting task of listening to children's wish lists and relaying
that
information to the Big Man himself. It made sense, since one
guy, even
a magical one, obviously couldn't be in six places at once.
Now, my faith was the
one shaking. My friends at school said there was
no such person, and I'd asked Mom for the truth. The events of
later
that evening, though, had answered all my questions and stilled
all my
doubts.
It was Christmas Eve that
same year. Our family was driving slowly
around the side streets of our hometown, admiring the beautiful
decorations on the way home from church. House after house glowed
with
reds, greens and yellows. Plastic reindeer and sleighs adorned
the
lawns. It was just a bit snowy, enough to whiten everyone's grass,
and
it was a picture-perfect Christmas Eve. Stars glistened in the
sky,
and the street was quite deserted.
As we drove along, my
father pulled to the side of the road. We had
often asked him to stop, but he never did. He felt that would
draw too
much attention and someone might become annoyed with us. We kids
had
given up trying to stop the car during these light-looking outings
years before.
"Why are we stopping? What's going on?" my
brother and I asked. Dad
didn't say much. He just pointed to a house and said, "Look." A
side
window was open in the darkened house, and who should be climbing
out
but Santa himself! He had the pack of toys on his back and looked
just
like the illustrations in my Christmas books.
Santa saw the car and
came down to the road. Mom rolled down her
window and he leaned into the car with a hearty "Ho ho ho!" My
brother
and I were completely speechless. Santa wished us all a good
evening
and asked if we had been good all year. He told us that it was
sort of
late for children like us to be out and about on Christmas Eve,
and
that we should hurry home to go to bed, because he was heading
south.
And, after wishing the family a Merry Christmas, he strode off
through
the yards heading for the next house on his route.
Needless to say, my brother
and I weren't too excited about visiting
with the neighbors that Christmas Eve. That was another family
tradition, but my mother told me years later that we made the
visit so
unpleasant they felt compelled to take us home early. She also
said
that was the quickest and easiest time she ever had convincing
us to
go to bed on a Christmas Eve. And Santa did come that night,
just like
he had for years and years, when we were sound asleep.
To this day, I'm not exactly
sure what happened that night. My
parents, even now that I'm an adult, disavow any pre-arrangement
or
planning. The house that Santa climbed out of was dark and asleep-
looking. It did not belong to any friends of the family. And
how did
Santa know that we lived south of town? The road we were on ran
east-
west, and was a small residential side street. All I know for
sure is
that encounter cemented my belief for years to come. I can honestly
say that I'm pretty sure I saw Santa on that Christmas Eve.And
to answer my own daughter, I told her that story. Filled with
disbelief, she immediately called her grandmother who confirmed
the
sighting. And Santa has visited our house ever since. Even as
the
children grow up and begin to understand the ways in which adults
help
the old guy out from time to time, he keeps coming and helping
to fill
our hearts with Christmas spirit. So I believe, and she believes.
How about you?
************************
This Christmas, if you
have a child of Santa-age, I urge you to visit
http://www.claus.com. This is the best North Pole page I've found
to
date. My children have been particularly fascinated with the
Naughty-or-Nice rating machine. Enter a first
name, and immediately you will
receive your current status on Santa's list. The ratings are
very well
done, and seem to be quite specific to your child. My middle
child
(who had decided that Santa was fiction) was very nearly convinced
to believe again by her rating one year. Her note mentioned something
about needing to clean her room and brush her teeth without being
told, but praised her for setting the table last week, all of
which
were true. The only thing that stopped her from believing was
the test
of putting the dog's name into the system. Apparently, the dog
needs
to pick up his dirty socks! But stop by and check the site out.
It has
a lot to offer, and it's been a hit with every child I've taken
there.
Sandy Fleming
is an educator, author and workshop facilitator. She resides
in southern Michigan with her husband and three daughters.
Sandy leads workshops for daycare providers and parents
in the region, tutors students, volunteers for Girl Scouts
and her church, and teaches online classes for adults and
children. She loves to make new friends, so please drop
her an e-mail at kids@busyparentsonline.com
